By Tash Aw
Riverhead Hardcover
384 pages
While John Banville’s The Sea ended up winning this year’s Man Booker Prize; the shortlist, which included such stalwarts as Julian Barnes, Sebastian Faulks and Zadie Smith, had a name that piqued my curiosity. The name was Tash Aw, and while the title of the novel had me secretly cringing – The Harmony Silk Factory – to find out that Tash was born in Taipei, brought up in Malaysia, moved to England in his teens, and that this was his first novel, had me hunting the fiction shelves of our better bookstores. I found the book at Powerbooks, and from the very first line – "The Harmony Silk Factory is the name of the shop house my father bought in 1942 as a front for his illegal businesses" – I was entranced by this novel of identity and perception, set in the Kinta Valley of rural Malaya in the early 1940s.
The novel ostensibly chronicles the life of one Johnny Lim, a peasant of Chinese extraction, who through guile, cunning and ambition, works for then eventually runs and owns a textile store in the Kinta Valley. He amasses wealth and power, and emerges as the single most influential man in the locality during that era. Moving from that period of the twilight of British rule right before the war, on to the Japanese occupation and post-war Malaysia, Aw’s story is an ambitious and successfully realized retelling of recent Malaysian history as seen through the prism of one community, one man (perceived as wartime hero and savior of his community), and those that knew him. It is a fascinating story of the politics of power, family, local economics, and the colonial experience – all transposed to a personal level through this gripping yarn.
Aw’s literary conceit is to divide the novel into three sections. The first section has Jasper, Johnny Lim’s bitter son, relating the life of Lim as a scoundrel, schemer, collaborator, and traitor to his own countrymen. Then we have Snow, Johnny’s beautiful wife who died at childbirth, giving her perpsective of Lim via diary entries that she kept during the period right before marriage and on to the time she becomes a disillusioned wife. The daughter of the wealthiest local family in the Valley, the Soongs, Snow recounts how Johnny never quite fit in Kinta society, was awed by the fact of his marriage, and how her feelings and emotions were constantly put into a tempest, thanks to the other men who impinged on her existence. Hinted at this section are doubts on the paternity of Jasper. The final section of the book is courtesy of Peter Wormwood, a seemingly effeminate English drifter who befriends Johnny, and bears witness to the shifting of power and allegiances as Japan (in the person of Prof. Kunichika Mamoru) makes its presence felt in the area right before Japan invades Singapore and Malaya.
The same characters flit in and out of all three sections, and Aw’s special gift is to succinctly show how, depending on who is relating the story, these characters change in terms of intent and personality. Perspective is the key to the unique quality of Aw’s presentation: how in these moments of culture in crisis, each and every character is a different one depending on whose perspective is being utilized. Jasper’s POV (point of view) is conditioned by time and the resentment that has grown over the years. Theoretically, Snow should have the most personal level to relate, but even she constantly confesses how little she really knows Johnny, even in marriage. With Peter, there is initially the warm light of friendship, trust and dependence suffusing his relationship with Johnny. This becomes complicated as the plot unfolds, and it is to Aw’s credit that subtext, desires and feelings that lie just below the surface of things are all given play with great effect.
The hints, the clues, the foreboding – all of these charge the atmosphere as we turn the pages, keeping us utterly engrossed in the tale. Plus, it is Aw’s constant capacity to surprise and keep us unbalanced that adds to the enjoyment of our reading.
Aw’s three distinct voices are impeccably created. Jasper, with deadpan sarcasm, writes, "Our place was not the kind of place just anyone could visit...entry was by strict invitation, and only a privileged few passed through its doors. To be invited, you had to be like my father – that is to say, you had to be a liar, a cheat, a traitor, and a skirt chaser. Of the very highest order."
In Snow’s diary, we see reflections of culture and social order. "I had heard from father about the strictly observed etiquette in such grand British establishments; in one club in Kuala Lumpur...there is a sign at the entrance to the smoking room that reads NO WOMEN AND DOGS." And later, she writes, "Women are not often on their own: they are constantly surrounded by men – fathers, husbands, sons...We obey, nurse, nurture, and love. But in the end, we are and always have been alone."
Peter’s voice, as befits his Oxbridge education, is full of keen observation and rich with metaphor. When staying at a rundown hotel, he relates how, "The rugs on the floor were threadbare, patched and tufted like mange on a feral Malayan dog."
Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things – they’ve won the Booker. Other Asian writers shortlisted over the years include Hong Kong’s Timothy Mo and Vikram Seth of India; and you wonder when a Filipino will garner such recognition. While the likes of Jessica Hagedorn, Han Ong, Tess Uriza Holthe, Bino Realuyo and Brian Ascalon Roley have all been published in the United States, they seem to be more successful writing about America as seen through the eyes of a Filipino (equals ethnic minority). F. Sionil Jose enjoys literary acclaim in Europe, but something like a Booker shortlisting has eluded us. Take the cue from Tash Aw. Rather than seeking to show just how global the Filipino can be, it’s the creating of a very Filipino, yet technically well-written tale, like what The Harmony Silk Factory does for Malaysia, that will do the trick.